


Don't Hold Back (Just Let Go)

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Banter, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, I Don't Even Know, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Alternating, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and marc is shy, i think i tagged everything ?, neymar is a little shit, post-recovery, rafinha is cocky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafinha prefers scoring in more than one way.</p><p>But both bring him great pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Hold Back (Just Let Go)

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is my first one-shot in the fandom ?
> 
> Hi, hello, I hope I did the ship justice ? :3 
> 
> SN: let's just assume they're speaking Spanish throughout the whole fic, and they only change languages when I put the different translations there (Like the Catalan and German.) hueheuh. ;)

Recovering after an injury was something the tanned male despised, especially when it involved missing valuable time out on the field. Something about the way his calves burn as he takes stride, eyes darting back and forth to remain on the ball; how the scent of the freshly mowed grass singes into his nostrils and the musk that surrounds the pitch.

That being said, training was more than he could possibly ask for at the moment, having got the go-ahead a few weeks before. There he is meandering around the field, eyes set on the goal ahead—hues momentarily distracted by the blond who poises for the catch, lips quirking into a tiny smirk. Lids narrow slightly as he slides past one of his teammates, completely unknown to him at the moment—he was in the game and couldn't be bothered with faces—and took the shot.

Abruptly the goalkeeper pounces in the air, gloved hands just barely missing the ball, the male tumbling to the ground as he rolls on his side to gaze upon the circular object that has just thudded back against the back of the net. All he hears then is whooping and wild screaming and he's glancing in the direction of the darker-skinned male who is rapidly approaching in a jog.

The blond is to his feet before the raven-haired male arrives to the net, tanned hands instinctively reaching out to cradle the back of the German's head. Lips are quirked into a triumphant smile as he stares up into those seemingly endless pools of cerulean that are equally as bright, gloved hands reaching up to pull the male into a congratulatory hug.

"See that? I still got it!" The smaller of the two murmurs into the side of the Marc's neck, nuzzling his nose there. "In fact: sitting out and going through recovery made me better, not to toot my own horn or anything." 

Warm hums spew from the taller as he pats a gloved hand upon the latter's back, grinning to himself: "Definitely better. Not that recovery helped your ego or anything."

Cue the scoff as Rafinha retracts from the hug to offer him a playful shove, clicking his tongue. "For the better since everyone knows you like it when I get cocky." Marc's lips part to retort, brows furrowing quizzically, before he huffs and hunches his shoulders in defeat. " _See_? You think it's sexy, you can't even deny it. You're cute when you're flustered, though, Marquinho."

Marc pulls a face and shakes his head as he uses his arm to swipe the beads of sweat away from his forehead, "I told you, Rafa, I'm not cute. My mom doesn't even call me cute—"

Two pairs of arms sling around Rafinha then and tug him close, hands disheveling his hair and patting him appreciatively on his back. All the Brasileiro can do is smile, however, as he's tugged back and forth between Dani and Neymar, the two complimenting him in enthusiastic Portuguese. Marc just watches on curiously, teeth unconsciously nipping at the skin on the inside of his cheek as he surveys the scene; not that he was the jealous type or anything, because he definitely wasn't, he just preferred the others weren't particularly handsy when it came to his boyfriend.

"Now that you two are done flirting," Neymar coins a sly smirk at Marc, who flushes in response as he rubs at the back of his neck: "How about a break? Unless you wanna finish whatever kinky rendezvous you started a few minutes ago?"

Dani chuckles in response as he slips an arm around Rafinha's waist, the younger laughing himself. "Definitely don't want to be anywhere in the general vicinity when that happens, especially not when Rafa here is giving Marquinho bedroom eyes." Said man shoves the bigger away in favor of crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

"Meu deus.. You're gonna embarrass him," murmurs Rafinha defensively as he avoids a playful punch from Neymar. "Don't listen to them, Marquinho, they're just jealous, especially this one." He swats at Neymar who sticks his tongue out at him before prancing away. "Messi went that way," quips the Brazilian as he points toward the opposite direction, Neymar flicking him off as he jogs away.

Marc raises his pale hands defensively before him as he glances between the two Brazilians, even so much as offering a timid smile. "No, really, it's fine. I'm not bothered." Though he winces as he speaks the word which makes Dani wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

"That's my cue to leave. Gonna hit up the showers and I'll be out, guys and I are going out clubbing tonight and you love birds are welcome to join us. Just keep Marquinho here," mocks the male playfully—Rafinha rolling his eyes and shaking his head—. "away from the Jägermeister."

"I really don't want to think about that one night," groans the German as he buries his face in his palms. "It's bad enough Rafa won't let me live it down with those videos and pictures."

"I thought he was kidding when he called me that morning laughing about how he'd printed pictures and posted them all over your flat?"

All Rafinha can do is grin deviously in response as he simply replies: "Nope."

-

When the two finally arrive in Marc's flat, after having a conflict about which was closer—with Rafinha whining about not feeling like sleeping in his own bed that night—the blond heaves a sigh. He allows the strap resting upon his shoulder to fall unceremoniously to the floor by the door, far too exhausted to put it in its rightful place—though his OCD would constantly nag that it clashed with the otherwise neat living space.

"Order some take out, Ter?" It was more of a question than a statement as the Brazilian leisurely sprawls upon the couch, releasing an outstretched yawn as he reaches for the remote. 

Marc just snorts in response as he toes out of his boots then follows suit with removal of the thin hoodie he was wearing, discarding it upon the back of the couch. "Why me? You always make me order.. Plus your Catalan is better than mine."

"True. You still struggle with Spanish, too. Guess you're a lost cause." 

It's all harmless teasing, he knows, as he plops onto the couch beside the brunet. He swats at his outstretched legs until the latter gives in with a groan and raises them only to rest them upon the German's lap once he settles into the plush cushion. Pale hands pass off the phone to the brunet, who winks at him in response, before he reaches for the remote to aimlessly flip through channels.

"You should have ordered for us, y'know. That delivery lady has a thing for you, but who doesn't love a tall, German nerd?" 

"You didn't at first," 

Chocolate brown eyes avert to gaze upon the wood paneling of the floor then, shrugging a halfhearted shoulder in response: "You made me nervo—.." He holds up a finger: "Hola, sóc jo .. Sí, Rafinha. Des de Barcelona. Sí, uh .. Podem tenir el costum, però amb molta salsa? Sí ? Ell és aquí. **(1)** " He rolls his eyes and puts the phone on speaker: "She wanted to say hey, Ter."

"Hola. És bo aquí de vostè. **(2)** " 

Rafinha snickers in response and nudges his bare foot against the latter's thigh, "Es referia a escoltar. Bé , gràcies. **(3)** "

Puzzled, is the look Marc gives off, as he stares imploringly at the brunet. "You insulted me, didn't you?"

"Course not. You're just terrible at Catalan, but it's okay. At least you have good English and German."

"You're lucky I love you."

For a moment they just stare at each other in complete and utter silence, though laughter is quickly bubbling in Rafinha's chest, that is until he can't take it anymore and splutters out in chuckles. His hand clutches at his stomach and Marc is even more perplexed as he doesn't see what was so funny, but eventually he, too, joins in the laughter because something is crazily contagious about the latter's laugh.

Marc's laughter fizzles out faster than Rafinha's, the man currently wiping at his glassy eyes, when the blond finds himself climbing across the couch to hover above the brunet who is still attempting to catch his breath. His lips are permanently etched with a broad grin as he finds his laughter reducing to just faint hiccups before Marc leans down to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

Still, Rafinha's chest shudders with the remainder of laughter until finally he comes to his senses and his chuckles turn into a soft moan as he winds his arms around the German's neck, properly securing him in place while his lips part to accommodate the latter's warm, prodding tongue. And like that he melts into the warmth of the kiss, his head canting slightly to the side, his lips moving in a fierce battle for dominance.

"Marc.." Is all he manages to utter between kisses as he nips at the latter's lower lip, tugging it between his teeth, before releasing it in favor of more deliciously addicting kisses.

Hands the color of mocha abandon their position around his neck to graze down his sides in favor of gripping Marc's ass through the denim of his jeans, pressing his hips into the 'V' his thighs make when he parts them, desiring to feel their bodies pressed flush. Content with his doing, he hums smugly into the kiss, though it's short-lived as Marc abandons his reddened lips in favor of nipping across his jaw and eventually down the smooth column of his neck, halting to suck lightly upon one of his protruding collar bones.

"Foda, merda, sim.. Mais, se sente bem.. Meu deus, porra sim~ **(4)** " 

Strings of Portuguese, recognizes the blond, as he re-traces the path made by his lips to instead press against his ear: "I'm assuming that's good, yes?"

"Foda-se. Fique quieto. **(5)** "

Soft chuckles echo from the blond as he presses a tender kiss to the lobe of Rafinha's ear, earning a shiver from the male, while his fingers occupy themselves with raising his shirt up to just below his chin. Another hushed sound erupts from the Brazilian as he slants an arm over his eyes, mumbling in low Portuguese that Marc won't even attempt to translate.

It takes seconds to shimmy down the length of the Brazilian's body in favor of attaching his mouth to one of his pebbled nipples, nipping and thoroughly abusing it—with hisses of approval from above—before turning his attention to the opposite, neglected appendage. His fingers are slyly trailing up and down the length of his sides, however, before finally making contact with his abdomen. Rafinha's body arches toward the feel of his warm fingers as he works his digits into the firm muscle of his abdomen, eventually reaching the soft hairs leading downward into his jeans.

"Bitte? **(6)** "

Marc all but groans as he makes quick work of the fastenings on the offending garment and tugs them impatiently down his taut thighs, along with his boxers, until they pool mid-calf. He couldn't be bothered with being thorough and removing them fully, not with the Brazilian practically begging in his native tongue. Curse the bastard for knowing his weaknesses.

His cock is already half hard when he takes it within his palm, offering it a warm, tight squeeze, that makes dribbles of clear pre-cum gather at the tip. His hand works a steady rhythm until he's fully hard and brushes the pad of his thumb across the head and he hears rather than sees Rafinha bite into his arm that is still slung carelessly across his face.

All too soon the jingle of Rafinha's cell phone goes off and he groans outwardly, moving his idle hand dismissively, as if his voice was too weak to say ignore it. And Marc does, at least at first. Until the persistent ringing was enough to drive him crazy, that is. He resists the urge to roll his eyes as he digs through the pocket of his lover's jeans, glancing at the screen with a purse of his lips.

"No, no.. Marc, don't do it. Don't answer it, Marc—" 

But it was too late and the blond found himself listening to rapid-fire Portuguese from Neymar, who hadn't quite realized that he wasn't speaking to one of the members of the Brazukas. "Err, Ney? It's Ter, not Rafa."

"Where's Raf—Doesn't matter. Anyway: the club is opening early and I figure you two were gonna come and get plastered, unless you're already in the process of cumming, then please. Feel free to hang up and never speak to me about it."

The death glare Rafinha is giving him, however, makes him regret answering the phone. He's cursing in Portuguese again, but this time in agitation, as he squirms beneath the German to wriggle back into his briefs and jeans. He shifts uncomfortably as he straightens upon the couch, one of his hands working at adjusts himself until he's relaxing once more, both arms slinging across the back of the couch.

"I, err. Even if that were the case, and I'm not saying it is—" Rafinha makes a noise, something akin to a growl, in the back of his throat as he retorts with: " _it was_!" before shaking his head in a scolding manner at Marc once more. "Fine, it was. It's, well, the moment is gone now. But, yeah, sure. We'll be there. Maybe." Another glare is shot his way and he finds himself soothing his lips with his tongue.

"Shame on you for answering the phone while in the throes of passion. But alright, cool. First few drinks are on me, you're gonna need it with the Hell you're gonna go through. Rafa hates it when he doesn't get his way."

"You're not really helping the situation—"

**C L I CK !**

And he receives the dial tone.

-

Needless to say he regretting answering the call more than he did before considering the newly tense demeanor of his boyfriend. He understood quite well, however, what it was like to be tightly wound up with no outlet to uncoil. Being away from Rafinha for any lengthy period of time had taught him restraint, though he couldn't say the same for his counterpart.

Which was why he was currently poised at the bar, elbows resting against the counter, as he looks out at the crowd of gyrating bodies featuring his boyfriend and fellow teammates. Some were already reaching the peak of drunken stupor while others were remaining alcohol free and just swaying absently to the music. 

Or perhaps because they lacked the coordination and rhythm without the added effects of a beer.. Or five.

Rafinha and the other Brazilians of the team were currently shrieking over the music to talk to each other and their faces were filled with toothy grins as they moved to the rhythm. It was a deep, hypnotic beat that even Marc couldn't resist bobbing his head to, though he was more focused on the fluidity of the movements his lover was currently making.

Instead of aimlessly hopping around and flailing, like Neymar was currently doing—alcohol apparently keeping him in a giggly daze—, he was making waves with his body and his hips were swiveling in a way that had him fumbling in his revolving bar stool to reach for the half-empty beer sitting there. He takes a few deep gulps until he polishes it off before ordering another, murmuring to put it on Neymar's tab. 

He takes the effort to down the liquid that burns down his throat once he receives it, deciding that logically contemplating about how to please the Brazilian was obviously not going to work. Instead he would have to resolve to other tactics, specifically one he lacked finesse in, but anything would be better than the silence between them.

Liquid courage radiates throughout his form as he drinks half of his new beer before rising to his feet and meandering through the throng of perspired bodies. Crystal clear eyes are focused on the one, unsuspecting form that twists his hips from side to side, laughing breathlessly as he moves to the beat. Hands, large even without the use of gloves, circle his waist from behind and he presses flush into the contours of Rafinha's slight form.

"You were doing it on purpose," murmurs the German in a low voice as the tense man relaxes back against his broad chest: "Dancing like that, making sure I was watching." 

Rafinha smugly presses his hips back against Marc's and twists his neck so he can peer at the latter's countenance, ivory teeth sinking into his lower lip for a considerate moment, then chuckling softly. "I set the bait, just waited for you to reel it in." 

And like that Rafinha settles back into the natural rhythm that he had formed, grinding his hips back against Marc's shamelessly, his hands resting upon Marc's that still lay upon his waist. Now Marc was never gifted in the art of dancing but he manages to keep up with the erotic swivel of Rafinha's hips, even dipping into the movement a bit, pressing his tell-tale hard on against the latter's ass through his jeans.

Beads of sweat trickle down the back of Rafinha's neck as he reluctantly withdraws from the embrace to face the German directly, eyes dark and hazy as he glances down at the bulge forming below. But the smugness of his expression returns as he leans on his toes to capture the taller man in a heated kiss that promised so, so much.

The Brazilian tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and grabs at one of his hands, tugging him toward the direction of the bathrooms. A devious little smile plays on his lips as he acknowledges the wolf-whistles from the guy's around them, pressing through the bathroom door with a triumphant smirk.

"You were watching me pretty _hard_ , Marquinho." 

And it's definitely a statement and not a question and Marc finds his smugness sort of annoyingly hot and he can't help but to back the man onto one of the counters. The brunet grunts as his back hits the surface, clambering onto the cool, smooth slab, before tugging Marc by the shirt for another bruising kiss.

"You planned—" Marc attempts to utter but melts into nothing but a pile of white hot pleasure as he bucks his hips into Rafinha's, gripping at his thighs and surging forward with desperate movements, desiring to feel him closer even though they were as close as physically possible: "this. You did." He manages between kisses and earns an amused hum as fingers sneakily tug at his belt.

"Aus." 

"Scheiße, scheiße, scheiße."

But he can't deny the Brazilian: never would and never could. So there he is fumbling his belt from its loop in the middle of a bathroom that anyone could stroll into at any given moment, not that he could find the shame to actually care. 

Once he was free of the belt, having discarded the expensive leather material upon the dingy floor, the darker male made easy work of the fastenings of his jeans until he had enough room to wriggle his hand down the latter's briefs. Dark eyes are sultry as they gaze upon the latter's countenance, watching as his face contorts and flickers with the pleasure he brings him; it's almost as if he's in awe if going by the way his eyes seem to glint and the way his lips are parted ever so slightly.

"Bitte. Halte nicht an. **(9)** " 

Marc figures Rafa sort of comprehended his broken German based on the way his eyes narrowed slightly as he sped up the already erratic movements of his hand. He made sure to twist his wrist upon the upstroke, alternating between soft squeezes, and swipes of his thumb upon the head. Rafinha has to lick his chapped lips as he stares at the blond man coming apart in front of him, the way his eyes are clenched and hiding the ocean away from his sights and the way his lips are parted ever so slightly to release soft, breathy moans of his name.

A hitch in his throat, however, alerts him that he was close to his climax. Rafinha, deciding he was nowhere near satisfied, releases his hold on Marc's cock—to his utter dismay—in favor of dropping to his knees, glancing up at the blond with a devious, almost cheeky grin upon his lips. He tugs his jeans and briefs further down his thighs before stroking him a few more times, his tongue gliding along his cock teasingly before finally taking him fully within his cavern.

Almost instantaneously pale hands find the back of his head, caressing him gently and not forcing him to take him in his entirety, and instead allows him to control the pace. His eyes remain clenched as Rafinha works his magic; tongue sliding along the underside of his cock, the way his moans seem to vibrate his whole body.

And he decides he can't take anymore.

"Ich bin zu.. Rafa.. **(10)** " He warns, not capable of speaking anything other than his mother tongue as he cums less than a few seconds later, blunt nails gently scraping along the man's scalp.

Rafinha, as ill-prepared as he was, swallows it all without a word and pulls himself to his feet with a satisfied grin as wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "You could have warned me, that is: in Spanish or Catalan.. Maybe even English," teases the male lightheartedly, seemingly returning to his natural state.

Instead of responding, Marc backs him against the counter once more, offering him a soft, tender kiss in comparison to the ones they had shared all that day. All of the emotion and remaining pent up tension dissolve into the kiss and he doesn't even mind the taste of his bitter release registering upon his tongue. Rafinha seems surprised by the action but settles into the kiss nonetheless, palms resting upon the German's chest.

"You should really get dressed before someone walks in on us," Rafinha states as he reaches around to offer the latter's bare ass a playful smack.

"What about you—?"

"We'll fix that problem when we're home and in bed."

**Author's Note:**

>  **(1)** Hello, it's me.. Yeah, Rafinha. From Barcelona. Yes, uh.. Can we have the usual, but with a lot of sauce? Yeah? He's here.  
>  **(2)** Hello. Nice to here from you.  
>  **(3)** He meant hear. Alright, thanks.  
>  **(4)** Fuck, shit, yes.. More, feels good. My God, fucking yes.  
>  **(5)** Fuck you. Be Quiet  
>  **(6)** Please?  
>  **(7)** Off.  
>  **(8)** Shit, shit, shit.  
>  **(9)** Please don't stop.  
>  **(10)** I can't...


End file.
